Reaching an English-speaking operator who balked only momentarily at his request to make a collect call to Washington, D.C., Pitt soon heard the line ringing. Rudi Gunn’s voice jumped an octave after hearing Pitt say hello.
“You and Al are safe?”
“Not exactly.” Pitt quickly explained the Adelaide’s hijacking, their arrival at the Panama facility, and his escape.
“Panama,” Gunn said. “We had calls into the Panama Canal Authority to look out for the Adelaide.”
“They changed her name at sea. Probably had phony papers already prepared. Bolcke’s facility is somewhere in the middle of the Canal Zone, so he probably has inside support at the locks.”
“Did you say Bolcke?”
“Yes, Edward Bolcke. An old Austrian mining engineer who runs the camp of horrors. I was told he’s a major player in the market for rare earth elements.”
“He was one of our few leads in your abduction,” Gunn said. “He owns a ship called the Salzburg that was sighted near the Adelaide around the time of her disappearance.”
“Probably the same ship that bumped off the Tasmanian Star before it made an appearance in Chile. And maybe the Cuttlefish, too. Apparently she’s armed with some sort of microwave device that proves lethal.”
“Bolcke may have an operation in Madagascar as well,” Gunn said. “I’ll get the ball rolling with the Pentagon to go after Al and the others. It sounds like a joint military operation with Panama security forces is in order.”
“Listen, Rudi, we’ve got a really narrow window.” Pitt described his encounter with the Chinese agent Zhou and his plan to destroy the facility. Glancing at his Doxa dive watch, he said, “We’ve got less than five hours to get Al and the others out of there before the fireworks go off.”
“That’s a tall order.”
“Call Sandecker and pull out all the stops.”
“I’ll do what I can. Where are you now?”
“A bar called the Black Cat, somewhere near the Pacific rail terminus.”
“Stay put. I’ll have someone you know pick you up within the hour.”
“Thanks, Rudi.”
Pitt felt the fatigue of his escape fade away, replaced with a renewed energy for the task still at hand. Saving Giordino and the others was all that mattered. He walked back to the bar, and the bartender waved him to an empty stool. He slid onto the seat to find, served up in front of him, a full shot glass containing a clear liquor. Beside the glass was a pair of long-handled bolt cutters.
Pitt put his hands to his neck and felt the steel collar. He had forgotten it was still there. He looked at the bartender, who returned his gaze and nodded.
“Muchas gracias, amigo,” Pitt said, reaching for the shot glass and firing back the contents. A popular local spirit called Seco Herrerano, it burned with the sweet taste of rum. He set the glass down, reached for the bolt cutters, and smiled at the bartender.
“Who says a black cat brings bad luck?”
64
ARE YOU SURE WE’RE IN THE RIGHT PLACE?”
Dirk shot his sister an annoyed look. “Since they aren’t fond of posting street signs around here, the answer would be no.”
He swerved around a stalled truck filled with plantains and accelerated the rental car along the congested road. Since landing at Tocumen International Airport that morning, they had been crisscrossing Panama City, first checking into their hotel, then visiting the mineral brokerage headquarters of Habsburg Industries. It was a tiny, rented storefront office that was closed and appeared little used. The owner of a bakery next door confirmed it was seldom open. Dirk and Summer were beginning to think their trip to Panama was wasted when they received a call from Gunn that their father was alive and waiting at the edge of town.
They passed a sign welcoming them to the district of Balboa, and Dirk knew they were on the right track. He followed a pair of semi-trucks that he assumed were headed to the port facility, then turned down a dirt side road when the port entry gates appeared.
Three blocks down the road, Summer spotted the sign with the black cat.
Dirk barely had the car in park when Summer leaped out and ran inside the bar, ignoring its unsavory appearance. She almost didn’t recognize her father, seated at the bar in ragged clothes eating an empanada. He was equally shocked to see both his children.
“Dad, let’s get you to a hospital,” Summer said.
Pitt shook his head. “No time. We’ll need to coordinate with the Panamanian military to rescue Al and the others.”
Dirk looked at the assorted bar patrons, who all stared at the out-of-place Americans. “Dad, how about we discuss this in the car?”
“Fair enough,” Pitt said. He looked at the empty shot glass and plate of food. “Do you have any local currency?”
Dirk opened his wallet. “I’m told our greenbacks are the preferred currency in Panama.”
Pitt pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his son’s wallet and gave it to the bartender, then shook hands with him.
“That was two days’ worth of per diem,” Dirk said as they walked out of the bar.
Pitt gave him a wink. “Put it on your expense report.”
Dirk studied a road map before they took off down the rut-filled road.
“What has Rudi arranged with the Panamanians to get into Bolcke’s facility?” Pitt asked.
“Rudi’s pulling his hair out,” Summer said. “He called us three times on the way over. As you probably know, Panama has no standing army in the wake of Manuel Noriega’s removal. Paramilitary groups within the Panamanian Public Forces are willing to conduct a joint raid with a U.S. team, but only after they review the evidence and make adequate preparations for a tactical assault. Nobody expects a task force to be assembled within forty-eight hours.”
Dirk looked to his father. “You think Al and the others may be at risk sooner?”
Pitt explained his encounter with Zhou. “Once those charges go off, I expect Bolcke’s forces to execute all the prisoners and hide their remains. Do we have any U.S. forces that can go in solo?”
Dirk shook his head. “Special Ops forces out of the Southern Command are our best bet. They’ve been put on alert but are still ten hours away. Rudi said the only presence nearby he’s been able to find is a Navy ship out in the Pacific headed for the canal.”
After traveling just a short distance across Balboa, Dirk drove up a hill to a large, ornate building that overlooked the port district and the canal. A sign on the manicured lawn proclaiming it the PANAMA CANAL AUTHORITY ADMINISTRATION BUILDING.
“The Authority is responsible for security of the canal and the adjacent Canal Zone,” Summer said. “Rudi says they are our only hope for an immediate response.”
Inside the building, Pitt’s appearance drew stares from the staff and visitors. A receptionist escorted them to the office of the director of Canal Security, a poised man named Madrid who wore a thin mustache. He gave Pitt second and third looks as he introduced himself. “I have been advised of the urgent nature of your visit. Your Vice President is a very persuasive gentleman,” he said, shocked to have received a personal call.
“Lives are at stake, and time is short,” Pitt said.
“I’ll call our nurse, and get you some fresh clothes, while we talk.”
Madrid led them into his office, which had an oversized map of the canal on one wall. A man in fatigues was studying some aerial photographs at a table.
“May I introduce Commander Alvarez. He heads our field security operations and will be leading your rescue operation.”
They joined him at the table, where Pitt described his abduction and the operation at Bolcke’s hidden facility.
“We’ve pulled the Habsburg’s company transit records and have found an odd pattern of canal crossings,” Madrid said.
br /> “Their ships enter at one end,” Pitt said, “and don’t exit the other until days later.”
“Exactly correct.”
“They are delivering purchased or stolen raw ore at the facility and then shipping out the refined product.”
Madrid nodded with a pained look. “The passage of commercial ships through the canal is a tightly controlled operation. They apparently have assistance from the pilots, and perhaps our own locks personnel, to make such transits without attracting attention.”
“There’s a lot of money involved with their product,” Pitt said. “They can afford substantial bribes.”
“Mr. Pitt, can you show us where the facility is located?” Alvarez asked.
Pitt walked to the map and tracked the Panama Canal Railway line that ran near the canal’s eastern edge.
“I can only guess that I caught the rail line somewhere in this area.” He pointed to a remote area off Gatun Lake, about thirty miles from Panama City. “The facility would be somewhere between the canal and the rail line.”
Alvarez rifled through a folder and pulled out a packet of color aerial photographs.
“This would be the approximate region.” He examined each photo closely before passing it around the table. The photos showed swaths of dense jungle that occasionally bordered Gatun Lake. A few pictures showed the Panama Railway line cutting through the jungle, but none gave any sign of Bolcke’s facility. They pored through forty photos as skepticism grew on Madrid’s face.
“Wait a second,” Summer said. “Pass that last photo back.”
Dirk handed her the photograph and she lined it up against another on the table. “Take a look at the jungle in these two pictures.”
The four men craned their necks, seeing a uniform blanket of green jungle flowing across both photos.
Nobody said anything until Pitt slid over a third photograph. “It’s the color,” he said. “It changes.”
“Exactly.” Summer pointed to one of the photos. “There’s a linear seam here where the jungle color seems to turn a bit gray.”
“I see it,” Madrid said.
“It’s the artificial canopies over the facility,” Pitt said. “They’ve faded with age and no longer match the surrounding jungle.”
Alvarez pieced the images together with several contiguous photos until the composite showed a distinct peninsula that fingered into Gatun Lake. He took a marker and highlighted the discolored areas, revealing a large rectangle adjacent to a patchwork of smaller squares.
“The large rectangle would cover the dock and inlet,” Pitt said. “Some artificial mangroves block the entrance and are pulled aside when a ship enters or leaves.”
“What are the other squares?” Summer said.
“The other buildings in the compound.” He took Alvarez’s marker and noted Bolcke’s residence, the millhouse, the slave housing, and the multiple extraction buildings. He described the facility’s security forces to the extent he knew them, leaving out no detail.
“How many prisoners?” Madrid asked.
“Eighty.”
“Amazing,” Madrid said. “A slave camp hiding right under our noses.” He turned to Alvarez. “You’ve got it pinpointed?”
“Yes, sir. It’s right here.” He located the peninsula on the large wall map and marked it with a pushpin.
“Clearly within our jurisdiction. Suggested entry?”
“Short notice will dictate an approach from Gatun Lake. We can bring up the Coletta from Miraflores as our command ship and run three of our patrol boats off her as assault craft.”
He studied Pitt’s markings on the photos. “If we can enter past the barricade, we’ll send one boat into the inlet and land the other two outside, with those forces sweeping in. Once the facility is secure, we can bring the Coletta to the dock to evacuate the prisoners.”
“You best assemble the men and equipment at once,” Madrid said. “We’ll reconvene aboard the Coletta in two hours, and brief the assault team in transit.”
“Yes, sir.” Alvarez stood and scurried out of the office.
“You are welcome to join me on the Coletta during the operation,” Madrid said to Pitt and his children.
“We’ll be there,” Pitt replied. “I have an injured friend I was forced to leave behind.”
“I understand. As to the matter of the Salzburg, I have heeded your Vice President’s plea and ordered extra security at the Gatun Locks. If the ship should appear for a canal transit, we will be prepared to seize her.”
Pitt shrugged. “I suppose seizing Bolcke’s ship might answer a few more questions.”
Summer could see her father didn’t know the full picture. “Dad, didn’t Rudi tell you about your friend Ann Bennett?”
Pitt shook his head.
“She went missing about a week ago—about the same time some sort of propulsion motor was stolen from a Navy research lab truck. Rudi said there was a connection between the two.”
“The Sea Arrow,” Pitt muttered.
“Rudi thinks Ann was abducted with the motor. He and Hiram found a cryptic e-mail she sent you over the NUMA website indicating she was in Kentucky.”
“Then she’s still alive.”
“Rudi thinks so. They believe she was telling them the motor was hidden on a hay truck. Rudi speculated they were trying to avoid the eastern seaboard in their attempt to get it out of the country. He believes they shipped it down the Mississippi, and Hiram actually found video from the Horace Wilkinson Bridge in Baton Rouge that shows a barge passing by with a hay truck aboard.”
“Seems a bit tenuous,” Pitt said.
“Less so when it was discovered that Bolcke’s ship, the Salzburg, was in New Orleans at the same time—and departed a day later.”
“The Salzburg,” Pitt said. “So Bolcke has been behind the Sea Arrow thefts from the beginning.”
“But what does he plan to do with it?” Summer asked.
Pitt thought back to his encounter with Zhou and the response he gave when asked why he was there.
“Business,” Pitt said. “He plans to sell it to the Chinese, perhaps as part of a deal related to their combined rare earth holdings.” He looked at Summer. “How long ago did you say the Salzburg left New Orleans?”
“About four days.”
“Recon showed it heading south at the Mississippi Delta,” Dirk said.
“Why hasn’t the Coast Guard or Navy tracked her down and boarded her?” Pitt asked.
“They would have but for one thing,” Dirk said. “The ship has vanished.”
65
WITHIN CLEAR SIGHT OF THE CANAL AUTHORITY Administration Building, a rust-covered grain ship sat at anchor, absorbing the gentle waves of the Pacific. Named the Santa Rita, she was flagged in Guam, though the government of Guam would have been surprised to learn as much. Aside from never filing papers there, the Santa Rita had never once carried an ounce of grain.
She was in fact an aging resource of China’s Ministry of State Security. Originally configured as a spy ship to monitor the Taiwan Strait, she later carried missiles to Iran in her grain-hauling configuration. Retired to less clandestine duty, she had been under contract to haul a shipment of Mexican pharmaceuticals to Shanghai when Zhou took her over off Costa Rica.
The tired agent was resting on the bridge, just a short time after returning from his nighttime foray into Bolcke’s camp, when his cell phone rang. As he checked the number, his stoic face registered a hint of surprise.
“Zhou,” he answered bluntly.
“Zhou, this is Edward Bolcke. I have to inform you we will be making a slight change in the rendezvous plans.”
“I was expecting the transfer to occur within the hour.”
“There’s been a minor security delay, but there’s no cau
se for alarm. The shipment is safe. We will, however, need to postpone the rendezvous for another six hours.”
Zhou grew silent. His explosives would detonate at Bolcke’s compound in approximately four hours. He had timed them to go off after he received the Sea Arrow’s motor and plans. The entire transfer was now in jeopardy.
“That is unacceptable,” Zhou said calmly. “I have a strict timetable to adhere to.”
“My apologies, but you can understand the sensitivities at play. My vessel is nearing the Gatun Locks and will still require the complete canal passage. If you wish, you might consider entering the canal at your end. If you head north through the Miraflores Locks, we could make the transfer in Miraflores Lake. That would reduce the time of our delivery by an hour or two. I can make a call and move you up for immediate passage through the lock.”
The last place Zhou wanted to be was trapped in the middle of the Panama Canal. But if that was the only opportunity to acquire the Sea Arrow’s secrets, so be it. With luck, Bolcke might not know his facility was a smoldering ruin when he passed over the technology.
“Very well,” Zhou said. “Make the transit arrangements, and I will proceed to Miraflores Lake. Please expedite your vessel, as we will be waiting.”
Hanging up, he stared out the bridge window, feeling like he was about to dance on the edge of a razor.
66
NEARLY FORTY SHIPS WERE MOORED IN LIMON BAY, congesting like a swarm of bees around a hive. Each awaited its turn to be funneled from the Atlantic Ocean into the Panama Canal. A small containership arrived and cut past the long line of freighters, tankers, and other carriers to take its place at the front of the line.
The century-old Big Ditch was handling more ships than ever, but its capacity was soon to swell. A major expansion was under way, adding two new sets of locks capable of handling the world’s largest containerships. While expensive to cross, the Panama Canal shaved thousands of miles off the alternative of traveling around Cape Horn.